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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23958037">With the healing of a heart The whole world springs anew</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon'>Splat_Dragon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Animal Instincts, Charles doesn't move to Canada, Charles gets his happy ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fox-Shifter Romantic Interest, Kissing in the Rain, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn, Swimming, Wolf-Shifter Charles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:33:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,419</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23958037</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Show me<br/>How the world looks<br/>Through your eyes<br/>And I can show you how<br/>It looks through mine</p><p>Charles couldn't remember the last time he had met another shifter.</p><p>When he was a pup, maybe, if ever.</p><p>So when he meets one while fighting as the Lone Wolf? Is pitted against one? Naturally, he's fascinated. But she's as wily as any fox, and if he wants to befriend her, then he's going to have to put in some work.</p><p>She can see how sad he is, though he won't admit it. And she knows just what to do to perk him up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Charles Smith/Original Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Why does that hound get the fox on the run</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p>
<h3 class="title">
<em>Show me how the world looks<br/>
Through your eyes<br/>
And I can show you how<br/>
It looks through mine</em><br/>
~Through Your Eyes, Martina McBride</h3>
<h3 class="title">
<em>With the healing of a heart<br/>
The whole world springs anew</em><br/>
~The Healing of a Heart, Anthony Callea</h3>
<h3 class="title">
<em>Why does that hound get the fox on the run</em><br/>
~Lack of Education, Pearl Bailey</h3><p> </p><p>When they’d taken to calling him the Lone Wolf, Charles had had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing.</p><p> </p><p>Why they’d chosen that name of all names, he didn’t know. Maybe, deep, deep down, they’d known. Humans were more perceptive than many tended to give them credit for, but they had a nasty habit of not listening to their instincts. They feared what didn’t fit into their little box of normalcy, and did all they could to explain away anything unnatural.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>They were right, though, and so he was more careful than he already was, lessened how often he shifted (though already that wasn’t much, he spent every day, every hour he wasn't eating and sleeping brawling on the streets), and when he did he did so further away from Saint Denis than before, ranging through the forest near the the Scarlett Horse Shop, keeping well away from the Rhodes side. Though it had been years, his fur still stood on end when he neared Clemens’ Point, and when he slipped skins it was to relax, to clear his mind, not to think on his old mistakes.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He didn’t fight many women.</p><p> </p><p>It was easy to forget, in the beginning, that not many of them were like Sadie. Weren't like Susan, and Tilly and Mary-Beth and the others. Weren’t bold and brash and strong. Were wilting flowers, letting the men speak and act for them as they’d been raised to.</p><p> </p><p>So when the woman slipped into the ‘ring’, he’d admit that he’d been surprised, then felt the fool for it. She’d been ethereal, otherworldly, and his wolf had perked up, raised its head. She’d smirked at him, rolled on the balls of her feet, and he’d <em>known</em>, his wolf had whined, had keened, had wanted to shift and bound forward, greet the first shifter he’d met in years, since he was a pup.</p><p> </p><p>He’d known she was a fox immediately.</p><p> </p><p>The too-sharp angle of her chin, the long jut of her nose. She was all sharp angles, all long limbs, and on anyone else it would have looked ridiculous, but it was entirely fox, and with the flaming red of her hair, the freckles under her too-green eyes, she looked <em> right</em>, and from the appreciative glances of the men that circled them, he knew that it wasn’t just him, that the humans agreed, too.</p><p> </p><p>The fox lined her every movement, the way she shifted on the balls of her feet, dancing more than adjusting her weight, the way she grinned at him, lopsided and mischievous, the way her eyes gleamed knowingly—she knew what he was, too—and the way she bounded forward and to the side when the fight began.</p><p> </p><p>It had taken all he had not to slip skins, to grab her and grapple her and <em> play</em>, and that had been the first time he’d wanted to play in <em> years</em>, but that would only serve to get them shot, to out their kind in the midst of a well-populated city, so he lunged to grab her, but she slipped under his arm, eyes dancing with amusement, and leaped up to slam her palms against his shoulders hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs, sending him staggering forward.</p><p> </p><p>He turned, moved to grab her. As a wolf, he was fast, but she was smaller, lithe, and so faster, and his only warning was a flash of crimson before a bony shoulder slammed into his side harder enough to make him grunt, but this time he was quick enough to turn, taking some satisfaction in the way her eyes widened as he grabbed her forearm and lifted, throwing her across the small space they’d been given.</p><p> </p><p>She yelped as she hit the ground, rolling and finding her feet with all the grace her fox afforded her, and barked a laugh, and he drew himself up, holding his fists loosely near his chest, readying for her next trick. But she only did the same, dancing from one foot to the other, head cocking from side to side before</p><p> </p><p>“Mph!” she tackled him before he knew what had hit him, and he saw stars as she struck his head against the ground one, two, three times before he managed to grasp her shoulders and roll them over, striking her face hard enough to knock her head to the side, and he would have felt horrible for it if he hadn’t known that she had the resilience of a shifter, but he didn’t want to brain her so he pulled his punches until she managed to squirm out from under him, shaking her head back and forth and swaying from side to side.</p><p> </p><p>Charles tried to get to his feet, but a foot slammed into his side twice, right at the soft spot between rib and hip, and he collapsed onto his side with a grunt, finding a much smaller form on top of him, grabbing his long hair and slamming his head into the ground until his teeth rattled in his head. He wiggled his arm free, and slammed his hand on the ground, tapped out finally as his head screamed with pain.</p><p> </p><p>He was vaguely aware of the woman clambering off of him, of the crowd yelling and jeering, of money changing hands as he waited for his head to stop screaming, to stop throbbing, for his shifter’s healing to kick in and soothe the pain.</p><p> </p><p>Slowly, he worked himself to his feet, finding a pair of bright green eyes right in front of his. He froze, startled, and an impish grin crossed her face as she leaned forward and nipped his nose, winking before darting out into the crowd and vanishing, even as he recovered from his shock and called out “Hey, wait!” and chased after her. But she was already gone, even though her hair should have stood out like a fire.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>His wolf whining pitifully in the back of his head, and him agreeing, he returned to where he hid his satchel, clothes, and other things, dressing quickly before reaching for the feathers he wore in his hair, only to feel hard wood instead. His brows furrowed, and he peered inside, seeing light brown but no white, reaching in and pulling out a carved figure of a fox.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I know every mile would be worth my while</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>  </em>
</p><h3 class="title">
<em>I know every mile would be worth my while</em><br/>~Go the Distance, Michael Bolton</h3><p> </p><p>Charles had taken to looking for the fox.</p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t realized it at first, it had been a subconscious thing, entirely his wolf.</p><p> </p><p>And then one day, while waiting for the butcher to wrap his purchase,She didn’t, though, and he was well stuck so, though his clothes were stashed at the Scarlett Horse Shop and he’d have to walk several miles naked (shifting was exhausting, if he tried to shift so soon after going human he’d collapse into a dead sleep), he began to slip into his human skin, praying that she was long gone. he’d realized that he was scanning the people walking by, looking at every flash of red but, no, that wasn’t right, not red enough, not bright enough, wasn't tinted orange. That was a dress, a shirt, not hair. His wolf had laughed at him, <em> ‘took you long enough!’ </em> and he’d scowled. The butcher had asked if something was wrong, but he’d just shaken his head.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Every fight, he looked for her, half-hoped to see that flash of red in the crowd, half-hoped she’d be his opponent. But she was never there, his opponent always a man. And his wolf whined every time, disappointed and hurt. And why it hurt so badly, he didn’t know. He’d met her for not even five minutes, been beaten into the ground (quite literally!), but he’d never met another shifter before, even in the hodge-podge mix of Dutch’s gang, so perhaps he was just latching onto that?</p><p> </p><p>As it was, he’d found himself sniffing around as he walked through Saint Denis, but as always the human-scents, perfumes and cologne and horse-shit, pollution and oils and all sorts of things clogged his sensitive nose, and even if she were there he’d never be able to find her scent, be able to pick it out beneath the tangle of Saint Denis.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>So, on a day when he had no fights, he took out his frustrations on some poor, innocent deer. Slipped skins in Scarlett Meadows, stared at the horses penned by the stables that screamed and scattered despite the many times they’d seen him and never been harmed, and for a moment he missed his Taima though he’d left her with the Wapiti so many years ago, she’d happily trotted along at his side no matter what skin he was in, Falmouth was a good horse but still shied away no matter how much work he put into him.</p><p> </p><p>He’d never figured out how to keep himself clean while hunting or eating—it didn’t seem possible in this form, with his shearing teeth and long muzzle, having to bury his face deep into the deer, covering himself in its blood and gristle and other-such-things, so he finished his meal before making his way to his favorite lake, rich with fish and cool despite Lemoyne’s thick heat, waded in deep and watched as the fish scattered from him. Charles basked for a time, allowed the water to clean his fur, enjoying the peace and simplicity that came with slipping into his wolf’s skin; its mind was so much calmer than his, wasn’t haunted by the blood that stained his hands, by those he’d failed to save, wasn’t haunted by the memories of the rotting corpses he’d buried back in Beaver’s Hollow.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Charles had learned very young that he was a rarity no matter where he went. Though he’d decided that he was a timber wolf, or close to one, he’d never found a timber wolf that looked like him. His fur was <em> too </em> rich, <em> too </em> brown, and even when he was a pup in his shift, when he was too young for anything but the most unscrupulous trophy hunters to shoot, people had wanted him as a rug, as a mount, as a skin on their floor or their wall.</p><p> </p><p>So when he felt a pair of eyes burn into his back, he whirled about, collected his paws beneath him and prepared to run, before being frozen in place by a pair of too-green eyes glinting at him from the trees.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>A fox—<em>the </em> Fox—sat on a stump, bushy black tail wrapped around her paws. Her jaw hung open in a canine grin, flashing sharp white teeth, and black rimmed ears pointed towards him. When she realized she’d caught his attention, she yipped a laugh, flicking her tail away to reveal his feather, pinned by the quill with her paw, before grabbing it with her teeth and bounding off the stump and into the trees in a blur of orange-red. He stared, startled, before shaking himself and barreling after, not willing to lose her after only just finding her again (though it had been <em> she </em> that found <em> him</em>), scrambling out of the lake in a flurry of scattered rocks and startled fish.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Wait!” </em>he barked, and she didn’t respond in words, instead yipping loudly, pausing to look back over her shoulder, his feather dangling tantalizingly out of her mouth, and the image of her raiding a henhouse, shrieking biddies racing around their pen, pin-feathers covering her face and that grin sharp on her face. The image was broken, though, when he didn’t manage to get within five feet of her before she was off with a laughing bark, and he felt suddenly as the hound trying to keep her from the coop, snapping at her heels but never quite making it.</p><p> </p><p>The Wolf had to dig in his paws to keep from crashing into a fallen tree that she’d slipped under, scrabbling at the opening before jumping up and bounding over it, catching her eyes looking back at him before she darted through a bramble brush that he was careful to swerve around, he’d gotten stuck in one once and <em> never again</em>, and as he bounded after her he couldn’t help but to laugh, baying loudly, this was the most fun he’d had in years! The Fox barked wordlessly in return even as she dove under another fallen tree, the hole small enough that she wedged at her hips and had to scratch with her paws to force herself through, only barely managing to slip under it before he caught up, his breath ghosting against her tail as it vanished. Charles stuck his muzzle under the log, snorted as he heard her laugh, and pulled his head back, leaped over the tree—or, at least, tried to.</p><p> </p><p>His front half made it over, but he caught at his hips, momentum swinging his barrel into the tree hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs with a yelp, and all he could do was whine breathlessly as he watched her vanish, hip a flash of white going further and further away.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Damn!” </em> he groaned, and began to scramble with his hindpaws, dull claws scrabbling, gouging and knocking away dead tree bark, only for a sudden nip to his sensitive nose to startle him enough that he let out a high pitched yelping noise that he’d never admit to making.</p><p> </p><p>The Fox yipped in his face, eyes laughing, and dropped his feather in front of him, still pristine as he kept it, whirled about quick enough to smack him in the face with her bottlebrush black-orange tail, vanishing into the trees without a care even as he called after her <em>“No!” </em> to <em>“Wait!” </em></p><p> </p><p>She didn’t, though, and he was well stuck so, though his clothes were stashed at the Scarlett Horse Shop and he’d have to walk several miles naked (shifting was <em> exhausting</em>, if he tried to shift so soon after slipping human he’d sleep for a day and miss his fights, and he couldn’t afford to do so), he began to slip into his human skin, praying that she was long gone.</p>
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